


Fallout

by Hephalex



Series: Not a French Mistake [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 10:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12230928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephalex/pseuds/Hephalex
Summary: After an unexpected exchange of blow-jobs in the Batcave's showers, Jason and Dick fear they may be under the influence of Poison Ivy's latest piece of biochemical warfare. With nothing to do but wait for Alfred to complete blood analyses and maybe come up with an antidote, Dick and Jason retire to separate rooms in the manor.





	Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to all those who bookmarked, and left kudos, and especially to those who commented. I'm grateful for every word I received. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the second installment. As usual, kudos, comments and questions are all gratefully received.

There was a pause. Deep and profound as the fathomless black of the cave in which they stood. A moment of weighing what had been heard, processing a response through a brain that had seen it all, heard it all, and was shocked by nothing.

Alfred arched an eyebrow. Just one, and it was the only thing on his face that moved. Four feet away, propped against a console with his arms folded like he didn’t have a care, Jason felt his soul curl and retreat into his nethers; a feeling that Alfred had managed to induce with just that gesture ever since Jason had spoken a few notes higher, and worn scaly green shorts on nights out. The funny thing was, it wasn’t even Jason Alfred was directing that eyebrow at. It was Dick standing there, explaining everything that had happened. Jason was doing a good impression of finding the floor fascinating, evading gazes like Robins evaded gunfire. 

“I see.” 

Like they were fifteen again and were trying to pretend they hadn’t taken one of Bruce’s superbikes for a joyride. Delivered in that impeccable, glass cutting accent, otherwise devoid of any kind of tone that might give the listener a clue. 

Jason watched through his bangs as Dick’s tongue came out, touched his lips. It was a nervous gesture, a nonverbal pause, a throat clearing. That wasn’t what came to Jason’s mind though. Instead he had an intense, 4K recollection of Dick licking Jason’s come off his lips. The memory threatened a blush, and not for the first time, Jason was grateful for the cave’s indifference to electrical light. 

“And you believe this is an undiluted version of the same drug the Wound Ravens have been running through the East End?”

Jason sensed Dick’s nod, “Gay Bomb…”

“Yes. Gay Bomb.” Jason didn’t see it, but he could hear the way Alfred’s mouth moved, the fractional tilt of the corners that hinted at distaste. Like each of those words were mouthfuls of a rather suspect foreign delicacy.

Mouthfuls, Jason thought faintly. A tickle of something carnal chased that thought. He could still taste Dick in his mouth.

“And you and master Jason believe you have both been compromised by this chemical.”

Jason looked up, gaze drawn like a magnet to Dick’s. It was only a moment, though, a touch of eyes before Dick looked back at Alfred. Jason found his attention wandering though, caught on the scenery. They’d dug sweats and t-shirts out of their respective lockers. Dick’s were probably the oldest, thinnest, most faded garments he owned, and given how tightly they adhered to the filling, probably left in the locker a few years ago when Dick was a size smaller. His cock was visible through the thin jersey of the sweats, Jason realized, drawing a soft but thick line in the smooth stretch of fabric. That carnal trickle Jason had experienced became a flood; fifteen minutes ago that cock had been huge and hard, and shooting a load over Jason’s face. 

Jesus.

“Master Richard?”

Jason looked back up, caught the quick turn of Dick looking away. Had he been caught? Checking out Goldie’s bulge? 

“Yes. Yes, Al. Compromised.”

Alfred arched that eyebrow again, and Jason watched Dick make that fractional expression that suggested he was dreading having to say more. 

“So that I understand clearly,” Alfred said, “you’re saying that you and Master Jason were compromised by this chemical in a manner similar to those who have been its victims in Gotham City?”

“Yes Al. Except the effect was more concentrated.”

“In the showers?”

“Yes.”

Another pause, in which the deep silence of the cave rushed in like a flood. It was black beyond the pool of light around the console, a vast, possibly endless darkness filled to the brim with Bruce’s brooding silence. Jason thought about pitching off the precipice, into the chasm; it might be preferable to this death by humiliation.

“Well,” Alfred said at last. He sat back in the throne a little, pushed his hands over his knees. “I hope you cleaned up after yourselves.”

Jason couldn’t help the snort of amusement that came out of him. 

Dick groaned, though. And not in the way he had been fifteen minutes ago. “Jesus Al.” 

“And now you want me to run some tests?”

“Yes.”

“On yours and Master Jason’s blood. And some of the, um, matter expressed by these plants?”

“Yes.”

Alfred drew in a breath, “Well, forgive me Master Dick, but shouldn’t Master Bruce-“

“No!” said Dick and Jason together. Jason at last had looked up and uncrossed his arms.

“God, no,” Dick added for emphasis. “He can’t know. Not yet.”

“Not ever,” Jason added.

“And you want these tests for confirmation and….”

“An antidote, Al. This stuff took 24-hours to work its way out of the other victims. We got hit with a much more concentrated dose. We can’t be…” he trailed off, and Jason felt him flick over another look. He looked away when Jason met his gaze. The flash of blue jogged the memory though, a heated look given in the moment after Dick had come over his face, white strings across his eyelids, in his hair. “…we can’t be stuck like this for…days.”

“Right. Very well. I shall see what I can do.”

Dick nodded. “And you can’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll keep your confidences. But if I may make a suggestion? You will need to think of something to tell Master Bruce. About why you are both staying in the mansion.”

This time Jason and Dick did share a look, puzzled. “I’m not staying in the fucking mansion, Al,” Jason told him. 

“Language master Jason, and I am afraid that you are. We have no idea what the effects of that compound might be-“

“I think we have a pretty fu- fricking good idea what the effects are.”

“You’ve experienced one symptom. There may be more, and we have no way of knowing what they will be. In any case, you know Batman’s rules regarding quarantines. When one of you is contaminated by-“

“Fuck Batman’s rules-“

“Young man,” soft tone, but incontestable, “this is not a debate.” And now he was the focus of Alfred’s cut-glass-impeccable-no-nonsense-British-patrician-act. “You and master Richard will stay in the mansion until the tests are clear, and your behaviour has returned to…” he paused while he found a suitable word, “…normal.”

Jason wasn’t willing to concede the fight just yet. Staying in the mansion was a red line for him, one the recent détente with Bruce hadn’t erased. “Forget about it, Al. That just don’t make sense. This stuff in us, Ivy’s sex-venom or whatever…” he trailed off though when he realized where his argument was going and what he was going to have to say. Dick was looking at him with faint horror. Fuck it; he’d be fucked for a lion, not a lamb. Or whatever. “…well, us two a few rooms apart, riding this whatever the fuck it is… Well, we’re gonna be doing the fucking horizontal shuffle all fucking night long.”

Dick groaned and put his head in his hands, “Jay…”

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, in that tone. “First, language. This is not a biker-bar. Second, given that this compound likely doesn’t allow for much in the way of discretion, I would suggest that a re-visiting of your experience with Master Richard in the showers fifteen minutes ago – indeed, even several re-visitings-”

Dick groaned again.

“-would be a safer experience than with whomever you might stumble across in the vicinity of your safehouse in the East End,” his gaze moved to Dick, “or on your way back to Blüdhaven.”

“The stuff isn’t contagious,” Jason protested.

“That we know of,” Alfred said. “And even if it isn’t, that may only reduce your likely encounters to rather embarrassing fisticuffs with a series of offended gentlemen. At worse, it will mean a tacky liaison with someone called Chad in the back-alley behind the Handlebar in Otisburg.” Alfred drew in a breath, pushed it out again. “On the other hand, if it is contagious, you risk finding yourself – for example - in a bukkake with Penguin’s Gang.” He air-quoted bukkake, for fuck’s sake. It was Jason’s turn to put his face in his hands. “Given those probable scenarios as a consequence of leaving here still under the influence of Miss Isley’s mischief, it would seem to me that engaging in that particular act with someone that you know, and trust, is preferable to a series of frantic copulations with Gotham’s nocturnal unsavories. “

“You’re actually saying we should fuck again?” because Jason was past the point of caring. His incredulity was stronger than his shame. Dick’s wasn’t. He groaned again. 

Alfred gave Jason a look. “What I am saying, is that the best thing you gentleman can do is take yourselves to your separate bedrooms, and try to get some rest. I shall, of course, seal myself in the Batcave while I complete the blood screens and develop an antidote. Because, of course, keeping this house in order, and providing tech and intel support during patrol doesn’t keep me nearly busy enough, I now also have to develop a cure for Gotham’s latest entertainingly horrific narcotic. In the event that you feel the urge to repeat your experiences in the showers, may I suggest the tried and trusted method of self-satisfaction.”

Dick looked like he was going to be sick. Jason was wondering whether there was enough brain bleach in the world to scrub this conversation out of his memory. 

“If that isn’t sufficient, however, and you find yourselves in a second tryst, I would be grateful if you would at least launder the bedclothes in the morning.”

“Shit,” Jason said.

“Now then,” Alfred said, in that tone that said he was done, and annoying young boys had best skidaddle, “unless there is any other ridiculousness you have to confess to, I suggest we call this agonizing conversation concluded. I will let you know as soon as I have something.”

* * *

It was 2am, and Jason was too wired to sleep. He lay on his back under the zillion-count Egyptian cotton in one of Bruce’s spare-rooms, studying the stucco on the ceiling by the light of an antique lamp on the nightstand. It wasn’t unusual for him to be awake in the small hours. That come-down margin at the end of patrol was something all Robin’s shared, when residual adrenalin and racing thoughts fought off sleep, and left you buzzing. The remedies were various: a few hours of video-games, a mountain of pizza and beer…a few smokes. Jason had already tried the last of those; three chain-smoked through the open window, looking out over the manor’s moonlit grounds, while dew condensed on the lawns, and he replayed over and over the best blow-job of his life. 

The oral fixation hadn’t helped him forget, neither had the nicotine, which the opposite to calming his confusion, had his blood buzzing even harder. The replay came in fragments, out of sequence, moments bobbing to the surface in a frantic clamour to be the first viewed, thrilling mind’s-eyes images of Dick with no clothes on, soaping that tanned, muscled skin under the shower; his ass - that magnificent, ridiculous, fucking Platonic Ideal of an ass; his abdomen, the cut of groin tapering to his cock. His cock. Jesus. Rigid and leaking, and straining up for him, for Jason, aching to be touched. The weight of it in his hand, on his lips. The head in his mouth. Coming, The taste of come on his tongue, warm and wet on his cheeks, on an eyelid. In his hair. As confusing as the relentless replay, had been the fact he had gotten hard standing there, remembering it. leaning at the window, smoking in just his boxers and a T, and hard as he had been an hour before when Dick’s knees had hit the tiles and Jason realized they were going to do it.

He had tried to distract himself by putting his mind to work figuring out Isley’s plan. What was the purpose of a drug that turned guys gay? It wasn’t a novel idea, Jason knew; Poison Ivy wasn’t the first to come up with an evil plan to use sex as a weapon. As late as the 1990s, the US military had been speculating about non-lethal chemical weapons that used female sex-pheromones to turn enemy armies gay for each other. But free-love between dudes seemed an odd play for Ivy. She was marginally less psychopathic than she had been, but Jason was pretty sure that given the choice, an overwhelming desire for but-sex and bro-jobs with the nearest dude probably weren’t her weapon of choice. If she was going to flood Gotham’s streets with a new drug, its aim would be death or pod-person metamorphosis, on a huge scale. 

Yet Jason couldn’t think who else could be behind Gay Bomb. He’d done his research when Dick had called him up. It had taken him thirty-five minutes work, and a bullet in the knee of a flabby-fuckwit called Sean, to learn the drug was distributed by the Wound Ravens through the East End, from warehouses in the docks. Those warehouses were owned by Wright Biotech, an R&D outfit with a dubiously superficial paper-trail, that had led Dick and Jason back to a farm hidden in the Louisiana bayous. And while there was no sign of Ivy or her usual-suspect plant-people minions at the farm, the meat-eating, meta-customed killer plants had Poison Ivy written all over them. So, it had to be her. The question was what the fuck was her play? Kill off the human race by turning all dudes gay? Pamela had never struck Jason as that kind of ignorant homophobe. But what other purpose could there be for a drug that had possessed even the straightest dude-bro with a rabid, insatiable need for cock? 

And here was why Jason’s efforts at distraction were a monumental failure: No matter how thorough his procrastination, it always came back to cock, and that thought was the trapdoor back into the churning maelstrom of Dick’s and Jason’s episode of hot, filthy sex in the Batcave’s showers. 

So, Jason lay there, at 2:10am, glaring at the ceiling while his dick did a good effort of making a tent with the bed sheet, and his brain relentlessly replayed his own personal shower porn. And it was hot shower-porn. There was no denying it. Jason couldn’t pretend the pool of lust he was steeping in, wasn’t flowing out of his recollection of what had happened, and from the increasingly unavoidable realization that he wanted to go again with Dick. He wanted to see him naked. Wanted to touch him, wanted to touch his cock, his balls, put his finger in his ass again, and hear him suck in his breath, right before he came all over Jason’s face. 

It was the plant-goo, Jason told himself, denying the fantasy and the throb it put in his dick. The fucking sex-pollen. He had seen Dick get a mouthful of it when they were busy remaking the Day of the Triffids in the bayou. Right in the face. Jason wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten into his own blood – he’d been in his helmet the whole time – but perhaps the stuff worked through the skin. Whatever, it was Pamela’s Pervy Chemistry driving Jason’s naughty thoughts. Ivy’s fiendish chemistry making him harder than he’d been since he was 16, and he’d had gotten to wrestle a half-naked Dick Grayson in the bedroom just down the hall.

Huh. Jason had forgotten that. One night early on, when he hadn’t been Robin for long, when he’d come home and crashed into what he thought was his bed, only to find his predecessor there in nothing but a pair of boxers. Mutual bad moods and mistrust had resulted in a tussle, Jason still in full Robin gear, Dick only skin and muscle, both of them angry enough to ignore the ferocious hard-ons afterwards. Jason chewed his lip, squinted at the ceiling. Okay, so there was that. And God knows his interest in watching Dick had gone up by about 1000% after that. He always told himself that was just learning the trade. If Dick practiced gymnastic only in a pair of very short shorts, and Jason had watched longer than he probably needed for tips, well, so what? At that age every guy was curious. It didn’t mean anything; he hadn’t done anything with a guy since. 

Except, Jaybird, you ain’t really had any chance to test that out have you? You know, on account of the fact you were barely shaving when Joker blew you up. And then you were a raging revenge monster, and your diary was three-squares of death and mayhem, with no time for anything else. And then you were with Roy and Kori, and Roy was with Kori, and threesomes aren’t your thing, and then you were with Bizarro (ew) and Artemis. I’m not a fucking virgin, he thought fiercely, glaring at the ceiling like it was the one arguing with him. Sure, but maybe you’re a little bi. Okay, a lot bi, because Dick Grayson on his knees sucking your brains out through your dick cranked your handle like nothing else ever has. 

Stupid fucking ceiling. 

He rolled onto his side, and stared at the window he had been smoking at earlier. It’s the plant-goo he insisted. What had come over him (ha, that’s funny) in the shower had been like a kind of mania; something chemical, something imposed. They had showered together a hundred times before, and never gone crazy for each other’s cock. It was Ivy’s freaky sex-pollen then, and it was Ivy’s sex-pollen maintaining a blue-balls erection in his shorts now, Ivy’s sex pollen threading his arteries with a magmatic fire for Dick, urging him at every second to throw off the stupid sheets and go down the hall, and wake Dick up for round two. Which wasn’t going to happen because he wasn’t into Dick. Specifically or generally. 

He had to do something about his erection, though. It was clear it wasn’t going anywhere while Ivy’s toxin was still burning in his blood. If he just lay there, trying to ignore it, by dawn his balls’d hurt so bad he’d be walking bow-legged. 

He huffed, rolled back, pressed his shoulders into the mattress and shoved his hand into his boxers. His dick was hot to the touch, ridiculously hard, and instead of relief the first squeeze and tug he gave it stirred up his lust, and sent thoughts of Dick Grayson bobbing around in its currents. He closed his eyes, tried to conjure something, anything else, from the usual catalogue of dirty fantasies. But with the first roll of his foreskin over the head, the first brush of a thumb over the slit, thoughts of large breasted women with soft little tummies and nice round asses, evaporated to the memory of acres of tanned, muscular skin, the prettiest dick Jason had ever imagined, and the most magnificent ass ever created. Instead of interrupting his rhythm, it settled it, slotted him into drive, and took the foot off the brakes. He let out a breath, an oh fuck as the sensation got good quick, pleasure building in the head and along the shaft as he stroked himself to those 4K memories. He put his left hand on his stomach, under his shirt, following the ghost of Dick’s touches, pressing up towards his nipples, brushing over them, touch sending a tingle that ignited between his legs and into the flesh in his hand. 

His fantasy deepened, shed memories in favor of imagination; the idea of Dick there with him, touching him, their bodies naked again, pressed together, dicks aligned, moving against each other. Kissing. Oh fuck, yeah, kissing again. Dick’s mouth on his, tongue sliding in between his lips, his fingers in Jason’s hair. His muscles moving under Jason’s fingers, all that power, all that strength, pushing Jason down into the mattress, Dick’s thighs settling either side of his hips, rising up so Jason’s cock pushed up against his hole. Oh god, he wanted to fuck Dick. The need burned through him, a wild-fire in his fibers that turned good sense, and superhero instincts, and all Bruce’s and Talia’s training to ashes, and left him with only an all-consuming need for the guy three doors down the hall. 

Three doors. For fuck sake what was he even doing? He squeezed his cock, fierce, like he could strangle the urge before it pushed him out of the bed and onto his feet. Instead, it stoked the pleasure higher and he moaned out Dick’s name. 

“Jason.”

That was a cursory splash of cold water, shocked his eyes open in a journey to the bedroom door, where Dick stood in the frame, backlit by a light in the hall. He was naked except for his boxers, the same as Jason had seen him a hundred times before, but somehow not the same. The cockiness was gone, the easy, effortless self-assurance; his body language was all uncertainty, doubt. He wasn’t sure he should be there. Wasn’t sure he wanted to be. But his gaze was fastened on Jason’s hand under the sheets, and it was that which drew him from his petrification in the doorway. Jason’s eyes went wide when Dick came in, closed the door, hesitant at first, hesitating again by the door. 

“Jason.”

Jason didn’t even think to think of an answer. His cock was piloting a gaze over Dick’s shoulders and arms, down the light and shadow falling like a film over his chest and tummy, over the hips poking over the low-slung boxers, over those long legs. 

It was that gaze, the heat in it, that tugged Dick out of his uncertainty. He knew that gaze, knew what to do with it. The cockiness came back a little, the showman emerging a little from behind the awkward virgin act. He seemed to make a decision. A moment later, Dick had dropped something on the nightstand and then the sheet on Jason’s bed was lifting, and Dick was sliding in. Like he belonged there. 

“What…” Jason had no clue what other words were going to follow that one. He was already leaning in, opening his mouth to capture Dick’s. The relief Jason felt as soon as they started kissing was palpable, something physical, enough to make him groan with it. The groan went from relief to pleasure in a breath though, when Dick’s hand slid into his boxers, closed over his own where it was still attached to his cock.

“Oh god,” he said, and Dick huffed against his neck, bit the skin, up to his ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said between bites and kisses, “I couldn’t get you out of my head…”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Jason was too hungry for finesse, his hands already sliding down Dick’s stomach, hooking into the waistband of his shorts. “Get these off.”

There was a scramble then, a shedding of clothes, tumble of motion that ended up with the sheets thrown back and forgotten, and Dick rising up, naked and glorious over Jason’s thighs. He was so beautiful it was almost too much to look at; body of a gymnast, soft tawny skin, long limbs all possessed of an incredible, fluid grace that had Jason divested of shirt and boxers in a move like a magic trick. And then Dick’s eyes were scraping down him, heat and hunger reflected in the look Jason gave him back. He was already hard, probably had been this whole time, like Jason, erection rising from neatly trimmed black hair, straight and cut, but otherwise flawless. He slid forward, up Jason’s body, holding himself up while his mouth kissed a path up Jason’s chest, to his neck. Their hips aligned, their cocks between them. The friction of Dick’s cock against his own had Jason arching into the sensation, groaning with it. It was incredible. He could feel everything, could feel Dick’s balls pressed against his, the steel of his shaft riding his own, the heads kissing together, catching on each other as they moved, each touch striking sparks of sensation. Jason kissed him back fiercely, both hands tangling in his hair as Dick ground against him. 

“You are so fucking hot,” Jason said, mouth out of control like the rest of him. “God, you are so hot,” and his hands slid down Dick’s shoulders, down his back, to his ass, grabbed a handful each to feel that magnificent flesh tense and relax to Dick’s thrusting. 

“Fuck me,” Dick said against his ear. “Jason, fuck me.” He reached behind, caught one of Jason‘s hands and guided it lower, spreading his legs at the same time so Jason’s fingers could graze his hole. Jason knew then there was no stopping this, then. They were going to fuck, sex-pollen or not, they were going to fuck. Jason had to bite his lip then, hard, hard enough to make it bleed, for the pain to beat back the rush of ecstasy that came rushing up his dick. 

“You want that, huh?” He pressed his finger deeper, felt the heat and resistance, pushed relentlessly until the tip popped inside. Dick’s breath hitched, but he caught it, let it out on that megawatt smile. His tongue touched his teeth for the second before he leaned down, stretching an arm towards the nightstand while his lips pressed to Jason’s ear.

“I’m gonna ride you, Little Wing. I’m gonna ride you ‘til you come your brains out in my ass.” 

Coming from Dick Grayson – straight-laced, apple-polishing golden boy Dick Grayson – it was the hottest thing Jason had ever heard. 

Dick straightened again, pushing back, trapping Jason’s cock, so that it rode up his ass, caught on his hole. It was overwhelming, left Jason staring up wide-eyed, unbelieving. He watched in a daze while Dick broke the cap on the little tube of lube, then rose up on his knees, off Jason’s dick, and opened himself up with a finger. Jason found his hands settling on Dick’s thighs. He squeezed the muscles, ran his hands up to his hips, over his abdomen, to his nipples. Those seemed not to be a particular turn-on for Dick, so Jason’s hand slipped back down, caught around the cock bobbing against his stomach. That won a little breath of pleasure, a bitten lip to the pleasure Jason awoke with a stroke, the brush of his palm against the wet head. 

Then Dick was rising again, up on his knees, and his palm, slippery and colder than before, wrapped around Jason’s cock, stroked it a couple of times and then guided it back. 

“Slowly, okay?” and Jason had no reply for that save a dumb nod. 

He felt his cock hook on Dick’s slippery little hole. There was moment of resistance – Jason was big and Dick hadn’t done this before – and it took coordination to work the first inch in. It was an incredible feeling, profoundly different to anything Jason had ever done before. A vise like grip, and amazing heat and slick. Dick’s expression was attentive, feelings all focused inwards, on the cock pushing its way into his ass. Another inch, and Dick’s gaze met Jason’s and there was a moment of pain there, thawing subtly to faint but growing surprise. Then Dick’s eyes went wide, and a shocky little breath came out of him; the surprise grew, turned to incredulity, disbelief painted all over him as Jason’s cock slid the rest of the way in, hot hard flesh up into Dick’s guts and pushing a stunned breath out of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he said at last, syllables shaky, expression still disbelieving, but the shading all pleasure. Then he reached down, caught Jason’s hands and laced their fingers together. He rose up on his knees, sank down again, slowly, carefully, and the movement pushed another gasp out of him, had his head tilting back, eyes closing. He repeated the motion again, then again, and finally Jason couldn’t wait any more. The heat under his skin was threatening to consume him, the feeling in his cock huge and irresistible, like it would burst if he didn’t move. He bent his knees, braced his feet under him, and pushed up. It put another hitch in Dick’s breath, then another, and another as Jason fucked him, cock sliding in and out longer each time, until they were fucking hard. He was fucking Dick Grayson and it was the wildest, most incredible thing he had ever done.

“Fuck, look at you. Look at you,” his mouth running, eyes all over Dick’s body, at his shoulders, at his arms, his thighs where they rippled with each movement, his stomach clenching and unclenching, his long, beautiful cock slapping up and down against Jason’s stomach. He pulled a hand free, caught it in his palm, let its hot, solid feel stoke the fire higher. “Look at your dick, your fucking dick. Fuck, fuck…”

Dick was moving smoothly now, rising and falling on his knees like he didn’t have Jason’s cock pistoning in his ass. He was flushed at last, sweat beading on his lip, at his hair line, his muscles glistening in the lamp light with a sheen of heat. He bent at the waist at some point, caught Jason’s lips and kissed him like he was dying, lust fierce and possessive, fingers in Jason’s hair, holding his mouth against Jason’s while they fucked, while each of Jason’s thrusts pushed a little ah, ah out of Dick’s mouth. 

“I don’t care,” he said, against Jason’s lips, “I don’t care if it’s Poison Ivy. I don’t care. You’re so fucking hot, Jaybird. You turn me on so much. I fucking love this, I love it. Don’t stop, baby, don’t fucking stop.” 

And as Jason watched with wide eyes, Dick moved again, coordinated, graceful, effortless; putting his hands behind him to brace on the mattress, going from kneeling to his feet flat, so he could take control of the sex. Jason gasped as the rhythm shifted, as Dick met his thrusts motion for motion, his cock moving slick and easy now in that fierce, strangling heat. It was molten sex, the heat holding Jason’s cock in its grip was under his skin too, burning in the pit of his stomach, in his balls, along the shaft of his dick. He was close. 

“I’m gonna come.”

“In me, come in me,” and Dick was coming, a spray of white over Jason’s abdomen and chest, turning to deep, ball-pumping ropes that reached Jason’s throat, his chin. 

The sight of Dick’s climax like that, riding his cock with such graceless ecstasy, pushed Jason over the edge. He seized Dick’s hips, pushed down hard as he thrust up, clenching as he emptied himself, the pulsing feeling repeating again and again, endlessly, until it was too much and Jason’s expression of stunned pleasure had turned to a grimace. 

He was dazed for a moment, unmoving, still hard in Dick’s ass. Eventually he felt the skin under his fingers move. There was a gush of hot and wet as Dick pulled off, movement dragging a sharp gasp from Jason for the sensitivity in his dick, soothed by a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dick was settling beside him, arm and a leg folding over Jason’s stupefied body, mouth against his ear.

“I don’t care,” Dick said again.


End file.
